He shook his head smilingly. "Can't--I've asked one or two of the Beaux
Arts fellows, you know; and besides, old Darrow's actually coming."

"Impossible!" Mrs. Peyton exclaimed.

"He swore he would last night." Dick laughed again, with a tinge of
self-satisfaction. "I've an idea he wants to see Miss Verney."

"Ah," his mother murmured. There was a pause before she added: "Has Darrow
really gone in for this competition?"

"Rather! I should say so! He's simply working himself to the bone."

Mrs. Peyton sat revolving her muff on a meditative hand; at length she
said: "I'm not sure I think it quite nice of him."

Her son halted before her with an incredulous stare. "_Mother_!" he
exclaimed.

The rebuke sent a blush to her forehead. "Well--considering your
friendship--and everything."

"Everything? What do you mean by everything? The fact that he had more
ability than I have and is therefore more likely to succeed? The fact that
he needs the money and the success a deuced sight more than any of us? Is
that the reason you think he oughtn't to have entered? Mother! I never
heard you say an ungenerous thing before."

The blush deepened to crimson, and she rose with a nervous laugh. "It
_was_ ungenerous," she conceded. "I suppose I'm jealous for you. I